


meatloaf

by blainedarling



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: HTGAWM - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2475530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blainedarling/pseuds/blainedarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asher can't shake that meatloaf comment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	meatloaf

**Author's Note:**

> i haven’t written anything at all in a while, and i’ve never written these two before so— be gentle. (even if no one else does i totally ship these two oop)

 

Asher has a feeling that by the time he gets home tonight, this couch is going to have a permanent imprint of his ass moulded into the leather. He sighs, shifting a little, before recrossing his legs. His eyes can barely register the words on the pages scattered across his lap anymore. 

Frank’s footsteps approach from around the corner, his head popping into their office space. His jacket is done up to protect from the cold outside, bag slung over one shoulder. He looks at them for a moment, as if he might remind them to go home at some point, get some rest. But he remembers who their boss is, thinks better of it and just gives a cursory nod.

“Goodnight, boys.”

That leaves just him and Connor. Professor Keating had disappeared with Wes earlier in the evening; the girls making their respective (and in his mind, flimsy) excuses once the clock slipped past ten. He’s desperately trying to keep his place at the top of his teacher’s list - he can’t speak for the other man.

 Asher gaze shifts up from the pages he isn’t looking over to Connor, noting where his head is tilted back a little, absentmindedly stuck in the direction of the space from which Frank had just vacated. 

“Meatloaf,” Asher states, a hint of indignation creeping into his tone. He’d be lying if he said that it hadn’t bothered him some. He isn’t used to being overlooked.   
Connor’s crooked smile turns on him, amusement sparkling in his eyes although he says nothing in response.

“Is it because he’s older?” Asher questions, cocking his head in thought. “Is that what you’re into? Or is it the-” He gestures over his chin, bare save for speckling of stubble. “Does that feel..good?”

Connor laughs, his head tipping back for a brief moment and exposing the curve of his throat. “You are so  _straight_ ,” he muses, shaking his head before turning back down to the legal pad propped up on his knee. 

“Come on,” Asher whines.  
Connor sighs and sets down the pad, before resting his elbows against his knees and propping his chin up in his hands. “I’ll admit, I do enjoy the burn of a man’s facial hair against the inside of my thighs. But what really gets me going is when I can still feel it against my ass cheeks the next morning.”

Asher grimaces, burying his face into his papers as his cheeks flare crimson. “Sorry I asked,” he mumbles, suddenly fascinated by the timeline of the witness.   
“And yet, you did ask.”

He hears Connor get up but that doesn’t deter his gaze until he feels the couch he’s sitting on dip slightly.   
“Don’t worry, meatloaf,” Connor assures him with a condescending smirk. “One day you’ll find a nice woman who will be naive enough to fall in love with you and provide a neat two point four children for you to throw baseball with in your suburban backyard.”

 “I’ll have you know that I-I-” Asher stumbles, inexplicably flustered. Not over Connor’s words even, so much as their sudden proximity.  _When did that happen?_  Connor’s hand is resting over his own thigh, long fingers draped against the black material, tapping out a rhythm of sorts as he waits for a response. “That I hate the suburbs,” Asher finishes lamely.   
Connor’s fingers pause in their dance. 

Asher can’t be sure how it happens, only that he looks up and takes a breath, and next thing he knows, he’s releasing that same breath out into Connor’s mouth. Connor’s hand knots into the hair at the nape of his neck, making Asher gasp, and the other takes the opportunity to bite down on his lower lip. 

“Hey!” Asher jerks back, pressing a thumb to his lip in alarm. “You bit me!”  
Connor doesn’t look at all guilty, his arm slung over the back of the couch with an air of nonchalance. “Is that code for stop? You’ll have to forgive me, it’s been a little while since I’ve made out with a straight boy.”

Connor seems to have this effect over him, the ability to make him feel completely inept in a few sentences or less. If he were the fighting type, Asher would feel compelled to try and knock the smile right off of his face. But he’s not, and he won’t. 

He settles for lunging towards the other man, catching him at least a little by surprise, papers getting crushed between them as his hands fist into Connor’s shirt. Connor’s mouth tastes like scotch and Asher doesn’t hate it. Nor does he hate the friction of Connor’s facial hair against his jaw, if a somewhat odd sensation. 

It’s kind of like kissing a girl. Except for the beard, of course, and the small noises Connor is making being slightly lower in tone than what he is used to. And the hands on his small of his back dragging his hips down being a little larger. And, as Connor’s knee slips up and parts his legs and his thigh presses down against- 

So, maybe, nothing like kissing a girl at all. But Asher still doesn’t hate it. 

They break apart for air; Connor’s breath fanning out, hot and erratic against Asher’s neck.  
“What you said about- About the burn against the inside of your thighs-”

Connor laughs brightly, his head falling back against the arm of the couch with a thump. “Baby steps, meatloaf.”

 


End file.
